[renaisguy]

A Starry Saddle Ride

[contempenitent]

"Apologies," says Mauvier, "but you will learn that relaxing is rather difficult for me. I don't anticipate danger, but it is my duty to always remain vigilant."

The hill that Sir Forde has picked is rather nice. There is plenty of sun and shade both, and the distant pastures are visible from this height. It pulls at something in Mauvier, nostalgic and rooted deep.

Maybe it's the fatigue of the ride or his earlier training settling into his bones, combined with watching Forde lay on his blanket, but Mauvier feels like he could at least spare a few minutes of idle conversation before scouting begins. He pats Primrose's snout, considering the young knight's question.

"I suppose I have a couple of hobbies," Mauvier admits. "I do enjoy sewing, from time to time. But for the most part, I suppose my hobby is my work. It is what fulfills me."

Mauvier gazes out to the pastures again, but that throb in his chest forces him to look away. "How about you, Sir Forde? It can't all be naps with you."

[renaisguy]

“Sewing, eh? That’s nice, have you considered joining the academy’s sewing club?” He asks, gazing up at the man. Never would have guessed. Then again, Forde should know better, seeing that… 

“I paint.” He says, the words coming to him easily. “Mostly landscapes, though I’ve been trying to branch out recently. I was planning to sketch this view after my nap, though if you want something a bit more vigilant I can paint you a map.”

His laughs trail off as he thinks about it. “Guess my hobby is my work too, now I’ve left the knighthood. Never thought about it that way, guess I’ve been having such a good time I didn’t notice…” 

“What do you find so fulfilling about your work, if you don’t mind me asking? Being a knight was good enough for a while but… I don’t think I could do it for the rest of my life.”

[azurelunae]

tea with the queen

[azurelunae]

Their house has become a home. At least so far as the furnishings. A wooden table with matching chairs. A kitchen with tableware — their own! she's washed them! — tucked away. Utensils for cooking — she's used those too! And adjacent to the dining room is an hearth and a set of stairs leads to their room. In truth, the place is a bit dry, not homely. Her and Seth have not had the time to decorate and to be honest, she would not be sure of where to start, or if she should. Their time here is temporary. It feels almost idyllic when she can forget all the duties that weigh upon them both.

It is a far cry from castle Renais in more ways than one. There are no servants to wait on her, no chef to craft their meals, and however eager she has been to tackle these new chores, it has been an adjustment all the same.

Of course, the fun part of having her own home is that she can invite guests over. She practically springs from her seat at the knock on her door and opens it to reveal a familiar face framed with blonde hair.

"Sir Forde! I am so glad you could make it. Come in." She steps back with a smile and gestures for him to enter.

In Renais, there is no knock to answer. The guards handle that duty. The steward greets their guests. These seemingly minuscule tasks are seen as not worthy of her and Ephraim's time. Perhaps that is why she takes such joy in them.

"Please, sit. I have tea brewing." She looks absolutely delighted by this prospect. What it bodes for Forde is a mystery.

—@renaisguy !!

[renaisguy]

“Lady Eirika!” Forde beams as he greets her. “Thank you for inviting me.” He looks around the house, curiously peeking through every open door before he’s seated for tea. 

“Lovely place you’ve got here, makes my dorm room feel tiny in comparison.” When he thinks about hosting a tea party at his place… he’d need to do a lot of cleaning first, how much had he shoved under his bed already? “Reminds me of mine and Franz’s house back in Magvel.”

Oh! And before he forgets, he rummages through his back and presents a box of chocolates, which comes with a painted card - a woman with flowing blue hair and eyes, smiling at a pair of children. “It’s um, not painted by me, it came with the chocolates. I wanted to get you something.” Maybe they’ll go well with the tea. 

“How are you two settling into Fodlan?” His leg bobs as he waits, it feels strange that he’s the one being served here. “Been on any strange missions yet?”

[renaisguy]

Where were you? Some sort of Crazy Noisy Bizarre Town?

Continued from here

[renaisguy]

Silence hangs in the air, whilst Forde ponders what to say. He’s never been good at dealing with crying people, and he doubts a silly sketch would be enough to cheer her up. 

“I’m beginning to think our mirror mission was a romp in comparison to everyone else’s.” He says. “All I really did was entertain various audiences, fight, and entertain various audiences by fighting. It was sort of a competition, but more so us vs whatever the world threw at us than us fighting against each other.” 

If they had been fighting each other… well, the one time he’d tried attacking Ephraim he’d missed completely, but… “There were these badges for sale, the ones you pin to your clothes. They had strange effects, but one of the ones I ended up with amplified my magic power. By a lot.” 

Oh how to describe it… “At the end we were fighting this giant hand. Well, ‘we’, a small group of us, another group was fighting the other hand, the rest were fighting the rest of him-” he’s getting off topic. “And um, when I used (that fake) Ivaldi against the hand, the light was brighter than any spell I’ve been able to cast, before or since. And then another badge made a jingle, a do-do dooo…” 

He looks at L’Arachel again, tears in her eyes. He’s just been rambling on, was this really helping, at all? 

“I um, forgot where I was going with this.” He admits. “It wasn’t my worst mission, I suppose.” He sighs. “I can tell you the story of my worst mission, if you’d like, but I try not to think about it for a reason, haha.” Haha, haaaaa… he’d been reminded of it enough tonight, what with Sir Sigurd and Lianna popping up, and yet another run-in with Azama. 

He takes an orchid from his bouquet, and hands it to her. “It’s not a rose, but you can be the Orchid- orchid, um… the Orchid ‘Onarch instead.” He smiles. “For what it’s worth, I think you have what it takes. You have such a blindingly brilliant smile, and you always strive to protect those around you, I don’t know how anyone wouldn’t admire you.”

@far-from-common

[renaisguy]

Duets by Rossini and waltzes by Strauss

White Heron Cup - Round 1, Match 4

[far-from-common]

All Forde gets from her is a curt nod; she agrees wholeheartedly, of course, but she is far too busy stewing in her own anger to respond.

Anger that is only increased as Flayn is sent out for yet another dance! A second go around! Bah! What for? Flayn's performance was spectacular; even without the clear bias against L'Arachel, she is sure that the girl would have them beat the first time! And that was the weakest of her performances!

Whatever. Whatever. She shall be their little puppet on a string! Dance for their bemusement once more! She shall dance her heart out!

She can keep her emotions in check for just the briefest of moments to give Flayn a small smile and a thumbs up, before all the anger comes flooding back as they step out onto the stage once more.

Forde takes the lead this time, L'Arachel subject to his whim and whimsy; she shall allow him to take charge as she is clearly QUITE BAD AT IT APPARENTLY.

One, two, three, one, two, three; she can commend Sir Forde for how he is moving, more inspired, more grandiose. It is clear she has taught him well!

Alas, the anger she feels is making her struggle with keeping up; flourishes mimicked with less heart behind them, a move or two that she preforms less skillfully than before. She attempts a quick dance move or two from the world of Fortuna in hopes that it shall help bolster their standing, though they lack her usual confidence.

The performance finally ends, and with a bow, she awaits her verdict.

The judges' comments: Dance executed skillfully, though with more mistakes than previously. Whilst the attempts at diverisfying the choreography are commendable, they were sadly ineffective at improving the dance routine, and in fact clashed with the tone of dance. In addition to previously mentioned issues with the outfit, the scornful scowl was quite unprofessional. 13/30

Ah.

Ah, so that is how it is.

So that is how it is.

"So, this is why you had us dance one more? To mock me? To humiliate me?" She yells out in an accusatory tone, finger pointed sternly at the judges.

"'Oh, Flayn's performance was perfect already, but we are not done making fun of Lady L'Arachel, have them dance again!' Is that what this is to you? An excuse to humiliate and belittle?" She goes from a mocking impression to yelling once again.

"Flayn; perfect, you can feel the love. Sir Forde; incredible, if only he did not have a horrid partner! L'Arachel; Why have you even bothered to show up here?" Her body is trembling, fists balled up painfully.

"Have we considered what the outfit may mean? Have we considered any symbolism behind it? Any sort of artistic intent? Any dead friends that it may be honouring? No, let us just call it trash and take away just enough points that she loses!" Her voice is starting to crack; red in the face as she is.

"What do you even want from me? The first performance is too safe, the second performance is too daring, the choreography is stale but the costume too exciting, there is too much joy, too much whimsy, too much human emotion on display!" Each thing she brings up is accompanied by a stomp of the foot, one that makes her light up shoes glow in different patterns and colours.

"If this was all an elaborate plan to ruin my night and shatter my confidence, then good job! You did spectacular." Voice quivering, she quickly turns towards Forde. "I am sorry."

And with that, she makes her grandiosly sad exit off of the dance floor, running away from the whole competition in tears.

[renaisguy]

Oh gods, Forde is uncomfortable. He’d signed up to this competition for a bit of fun, alongside L’Arachel because he thought it’d be fun. He didn’t want to be standing here whilst she yelled at the judges, airing out every tiny grievance. 

He glances backstage, looking for the first opportunity to leave the public’s view. It’d be wrong to just walk away from her now, it’d be wrong to try and drag her off stage with him (not that he thought she’d let him). The mood has soured so much that even the best of his jokes wouldn’t ease the tension. Not that he’s able to think of any good jokes right now. 

L’Arachel runs off in tears after apologising to him. It’d be wrong to not chase after her. 

“Hey, L’Arachel!” 

End

[renaisguy]

Duets by Rossini and waltzes by Strauss

White Heron Cup - Round 1, Match 4

[far-from-common]

It is time for the shining star to take centre stage! She has prepared for dance meticulously! She has faith in her partner! There is no way they shall fail!

Though, in the off-chance they DO fail, there are definitely far worse opponents to fall to than one of her cave exploring companions. Giving her a nod and a thumbs up, L’Arachel is quick to move out to the dance floor, excited to showcase her skills.

Forde leads them out, but L’Arachel takes charge masterfully. With a giddy smile on her face, she leads them in a lovely waltz; the simple rhythm enhanced by various dips and twirls, moments where she showcases her individuality with grace and poise.

Each step executed flawlessly of course

The performance finishes and she gives several grand bows to the audience and the judges. Looking up, expecting to see a perfect 30 points, she is instead stunned to see… less than that.

The judges’ comments: Dance executed masterfully, although the choreography felt uninspired and lacking in unity. Awful and garish outfit, like the cheerful demeanour, is unfit for the tone presented. 19/30

Awful outfit? Uninspired choreography? How dare. How dare! She shall be the bigger moment, but this indignancy shall NOT go unforgotten! She gives a polite curtsy towards the judges, before returning back to the sidelines, her nails digging into her hands with how tightly they are balled together in anger.

@cotharach

[cotharach]

When Flayn takes to the stage, taking up center all by herself, she realizes how little she can actually see the audience. The big spotlight is trained onto her, filling her eyes with a light that obscures everything else. Her shoulders relax. The thought of looking up and seeing countless eyes staring back at her had rattled her. But there is nothing but whiteness in front of her now.

The piano plays its first note. Flayn lifts her arms, and her dance begins.

She is most accustomed to the waltz—not the best thing to dance by herself, but she makes it work. Taking the position of the lead, Flayn dances with an imaginary partner whose height shifts quite a bit, but is nevertheless constantly in her caress. She twists herself to and fro, her heels scuffing against the wooden grain of the stage.

The music ends. Flayn curtsies towards the audience and makes her exit.

The judges' comments: Though it is clear that the dancer is amateur, her natural charms sell the waltz. The choreography pairs well with the music, though it's clear she struggles without a partner. 19/30.

Flayn reads this while seated. She hums—a partner?

Glancing down, she fixates on the white hyacinth she had tucked into her belt. A partner...

"Sorry dancers," A woman with a clipboard enters backstage, "the judges would like to see you dance again."

"Again?" Flayn blinks out of her trance. She turns Forde and L'Arachel, then rises to her feet, "Alright, I'll have another go."

She pushes past the curtains and takes her place, feet planted atop the 'X' marked on the stage. Flayn takes a deep breath. The piano plays its first note, and she once again lifts her arms and takes her step to the side.

This time, she pictures a certain someone as she dances—someone with a certain height, a certain gait, a certain hand. Memories of a sunlit pond and a fish hook delicately wrung from her hair dance at the edges of her vision, and a warmth courses through her veins.

The dance finishes. Flayn curtsies, like she had before, though this time she notices how much sweatier she seems to be.

The judges' comments: The execution has not improved much, but the dancer's emotions have been brought to the forefront, building up the image of a sweet and lovestruck girl. 22/30

Flayn's eyes widen. She hadn't expected to score so high. The woman with the clipboard asks Forde and L'Arachel to exit, and as she does, Flayn waves at them.

"Best of luck, you two!"

@renaisguy @far-from-common

[renaisguy]

L’Arachel lost points for her outfit? Forde looks around, it doesn’t seem like any of the other competitors changed specially for the competition, why should she have to? “If anything, they should give us points for the matching shirts.” He sighs, after waving Flayn off for her second performance. 

A second performance that visibly improves from the first, but in ways Forde can’t describe until he hears the judge’s commentary. Far more emotional, enhancing the music instead of just performing alongside it. 

He gives Flayn a second round of applause as she returns backstage. “Excellent work!” He grins, before patting his cheeks and plastering a serious look on his face. “Are you ready, L’ara-” ooo, if looks could kill… 

“Let me lead you properly this time.” He declares as they step onto the dancefloor. No smiles to save him this time, he has to dance with real confidence. He takes more risks in his dance, extra flourishes when the music intensifies. He wouldn’t say his performance is emotional, he’s putting too much brainpower into his steps to think about that. But perhaps that stoicism is what the music calls for. 

After the final notes fade away, he takes a bow, exhausted. 

The judges’ comments: A wider variety of skills without a decline in precision. He seems to have put much more thought into the tone of his performance, excellent work. 25/30

Surely not. When they said he hadn’t declined, it was because his precision was barely there to begin with. Perhaps they were simply rating him so highly because his partner was skewing their curve. 

He glances at L’Arachel. He absolutely cannot voice that last thought out loud. 

@far-from-common

[renaisguy]

Duets by Rossini and waltzes by Strauss

White Heron Cup - Round 1, Match 4

[renaisguy]

Forde takes a deep breath. He’s taken proper dance lessons, he’s already tried dancing in the spotlight, he and L’Arachel have practiced once or twice. All he has to do is go out there and support her as she shines. Worst comes to worst, he’s used to being seen as a fool. 

He’ll shake off the nerves by the time they reach the dancefloor, they have to. In the meantime, he distracts himself by talking to one of their competitors. 

“You’re competing alone, Flayn?” He smiles. “I’m looking forward to seeing it, good luck out there!” 

Alas, the time for chatter is over. It is their turn now. Forde takes L’Arachel’s hand and leads them onto the dancefloor, content that this will be the last time he truly leads anything in this performance. His heart is still racing, but the grin on his face betrays nothing. Act confident, and the audience will buy it. 

His other hand settles on L’Arachel’s waist. “Have fun, I’ll do my best to follow you.” And the waltz begins - one, two, three, one, two, three, the steps are simple, practically muscle memory for Forde. After finding the rhythm, it’s just a case of letting L’Arachel do whatever she wants, sensing when to let go and hold on again. 

Ah, and about halfway through he remembers a tip about leg positioning, and adjusts his technique accordingly. 

The judges’ comments: Adequate execution. Overly cheerful demeanor doesn’t match the tone of the music. 17/30

@far-from-common @cotharach

[renaisguy]

[ SPOTLIGHT ] - One of the lights in the main hall is mistakenly left operational—and its angle readily adjustable. Set up for an impromptu performance of your own, or play the world's most extra wing-man by making a friend the center of all attention.

So. Forde had asked Dorothea for the next dance. When the current dance was winding down, instead of a new song beginning, the lights shut off and they announced something completely different was about to start.

Great timing everyone!

Thankfully, she was still up for that dance. A slow waltz, and he was happy to let Dorothea guide them. "I've been practicing my dancing." He smiles. Thanks to his training he knows how to support his partner's movements, even when they're such a dazzling star.

Speaking of dazzling, at some point she guided them to the last bright patch remaining on the dancefloor. At that he gets a little nervous.

"Hey, I haven't been practicing that much." He protests, suddenly aware of how many eyes are now on them. "Surely you could find someone better suited to share the spotlight with. "

(That being said, he finishes the dance without issue, even throwing in a couple of flourishes he wouldn't have bothered with usually. He still thinks Dorothea could have done better but... it was a lot of fun.)

[renaisguy]

[ GODDESS TOWER ] - No effort has been spared in surveillance or suspicion this year, and you know as much now that you find yourself alongside another answering to an ornery guard the moment you entered its vicinity.

He'd heard he needed to be wary of the guards should he come out here, but thankfully the Knight of Seiros that catches him is- "Sir Sigurd!"

First Lianna, now him, old faces kept popping up this evening. Though he had long since tried to move past that year, there were always lingering thoughts of the friends he'd lost contact with in the months afterwards, worries that the toll had been too great.

Relief, that's what this feeling was.

"It's wonderful to see you again, truly." Forde bows. "It's been too long, I trust you're faring well?"

Oh fine, he can't escape the lingering feeling that he's dodging the obvious question. Sir Sigurd was a friend, but he was also a knight. "All the dancing tired me, so I stepped outside for a bit. I remembered the rumours about the tower and thought there was no harm in taking a look." There is no harm, is there?

[cervanke]

@renaisguy offered an invitation　⬩　[ FLOWER ARRANGEMENT ] - No matter how many flowers you gather, your bouquet won’t look its best unless you have the skill to make it so. A couple of students have taken upon itself to imbue their peers with the knowledge of flower language and the art of flower arrangement, and as a result the garden has become something of a workshop.

SHE HADN'T MEANT FOR IT TO BECOME SOMETHING THIS BIG.　𐂂　her initial outburst for two of the students to stop using magic on the flowers had escalated into an argument between them and a few other students who'd come by from the greenhouse club, and now none of the hydrangeas were getting cared for. it wasn't like they could run down to the town and buy more this late to replenish the stock if the flowers all wilted, and a whole lot of people wanted bouquets to wear or give to their loved ones for the evening.

if she left to fix it, she'd have to first find someone else to supervise in her spot. . . but getting up on her tiptoes to peer at the crowd of ball-goers, hoping for a friendly face, wasn't getting her anywhere.

and the line never stopped growing.

"hi, welcome to flower arranging!" she's forced to turn her attention to the next young man who steps up expectantly, dressed in red with an interesting rainbow pattern on his tunic, and hope he doesn't pay too much attention to the students still making snide comments at each other behind her as they stacked more of the vases. "what are you looking for? we can do a simple boutonniere if you'd like," she offers, starting to pick up a stem of red rose and a couple sprigs of rosemary, "and something to match for your date? the only thing is that we can't do hydrangeas right now. they're running out of water and we've been so busy, we haven't managed to refill it."

an idea comes into her head even as she speaks, and she gives the customer a cheerful smile, taking out a lollipop lilly from her bouquet she'd been handed at the door and twirling it between thumb and forefinger in a preemptive offer: "but if you help us out and fetch us some, we could do anything you want. i'll toss in a free lily to make it worth your while!"

[renaisguy]

Forde’s collected a fair few flowers by now, but all his attempts at arranging them have ended up with a bouquet that looks only slightly better than when he started. Even when asking himself what sort of bouquet he’d want to paint, he’s still come up short. 

So when he heard there was a woman in the greenhouse that seemed to know what she was doing - well, Forde had to take a look. Even if he had to smile and nod and pretend to know what a boutonniere was. 

“I’m looking for advice more than anything.” Looking at the plants in her hand, he already had a thought - he’d been so focused on the flowers other students were handing out he hadn’t considered using other plants like rosemary as fillers. “Just general tips on how to make a nice-looking bouquet, I suppose.” 

Upon hearing her plight, Forde’s eager to help out. “I can fetch some water, of course. Is it fine if I just grab some from the pond, or do hydrangeas need something special?” 

He steps to the side to let the next customer through, placing his bouquet on the table. “Could I leave these here for a moment, then? Feel free to take an orchid for yourself, of course.”

[renaisguy]

[ SHAVED ICE ] “Mister Forde, there you are!” Despite both of her hands being occupied with a bowl of shaved ice (dyed a vibrant, syrupy red), Maria still does her best to wave at him with the two or three fingers on each hand that aren’t essential to holding it. Trotting up to him, she presents the sweet treat to him quite triumphantly.

“Hee hee… This reminded me of you! Do you want it?” A laugh; she shuffles the bouquet in the crook of her arm. “If you take it, you can have a rose, too!”

(And, well, he can have one anyway, but it’ll certainly make it easier for her to fetch it if he takes this off her hands!)

"Thank you!" Forde gladly takes the bowl, admiring the colour. It was a good red, wasn't it? "It reminds me of your hair, too." He tries some - a refreshing strawberry taste, Maria really knew how to choose them.

He accepts the rose as well, another fine red. So he has to pick out one of his prettiest orchids in return. This one's a pale pink, that should go nicely with her dress.

"Here you go, hope you have a lovely ball."

[renaisguy]

[ CORN ] - A new strain of corn has been bred in Bergliez with a curious trait—it pops when exposed to heat, becoming light and fluffy! Help yourself to a bag; it's a little bland on its own, but you get the feeling you could find something to spice it up.

"Hm?" The man seems to be watching as Forde pours a trio of those sweet buns into his bag. "I think the popcorn's nice, but it needs a little something to shake things up." He grins, as he shakes the bag.

The end result is... very sticky. Between the honey and the cream and the other cream, Forde needs a second to pick some popcorn out of the mix. As for the flavour...

"It's good!" He exclaims, going for a few more bites. With all the different flavours rolling around, no two pieces of popcorn were the same. "Here, try some!"

[renaisguy]

[ FLOWER ARRANGEMENT ] - No matter how many flowers you gather, your bouquet won't look its best unless you have the skill to make it so. A couple of students have taken upon itself to imbue their peers with the knowledge of flower language and the art of flower arrangement, and as a result the garden has become something of a workshop.

Forde knows a bit about flower pot arranging, and thinks the advice is killer:

“The biggest, prettiest flower, goes at the back, that’s the thriller.”

(Though maybe in this case it goes in the centre,

When seen from all angles it would be much better.)

“A few plants hang over the side for variety, that’s the spiller.”

(Though maybe it’s ok, in this bouquet, to not do it that way, the flowers look like they’ll fall away.)

“And everything else to pad out the space, that’s the filler.”

Forde gifts an orchid, and shuffles Mitama’s flowers til her-

Bouquet seems slightly more intentional, and not just a cluster of lilies with a few additional flowers hastily added in? 

“Problem is, I think all the flowers are pretty enough to be the thriller… maybe it’s better to just shuffle them around until you think it looks nice?” 

[renaisguy]

[ RENAIS ] - A choreographed dance from rural Renais. Two rows of partners stand opposite of each other, dancing as they move closer and away from each other like waves upon a shore.

“I’ve been practicing my dancing the-“

“-past year, don’t you think I’ve gotten-“

“-better at this? Alsothatdresslookslovelyonyou.”

Forde doesn’t know how a dance, not even from Renais’s major cities, made its way over to Fodlan. But the concept of standing in two lines and walking towards each other wasn’t too difficult to pick up, even if he and Eirika were demonstrating the footwork was slightly more complicated than it would appear.

It also made conversations slightly more complicated than your average dance. Ah well.

[renaisguy]

Forde trips over the carpet as he steps into the ballroom, almost spilling his newly acquired plant. Almost. Not the worst first five minutes of a ball, that's something. And he's sure the ending can't be as bad as last time.

Surely, nothing can go wrong now he has this cool shirt L'Arachel gave him.

Roses: Lianna, Maria

Orchids: Nyx

Lilies: Mitama, Ananke

Hyacinths: Diamant, Ethlyn, Clair

Tulips: Lyon, Valter

[renaisguy]

Maybe it's the way you're dressed

[tomatotactician]

        Studying the principles that govern Fódlan's magic has Leo absolutely rapt with fascination. He very nearly can't take enough notes, nor borrow enough books on the matter, and lecture hours have been a delight.         Why, the notion of memorizing spells and using the body as an innate conduit—

        Someone is asking him for help. Mid-lecture.

        Granted, the professor is currently in the process of writing a small bibliography on the chalkboard, which covers their next assigned reading. It'll take a while, so perhaps Leo can forgive this breach of classroom sanctity.

        Still, there's another thing that's bothering him as he casts his gaze towards his tablemate. The man doesn't look like he has a clue what's going on.         It's the half-guilty, furtive way he slides over to Leo, "you-look-smart-please-help-me" written across his face. Leo recognizes that look. He'd seen something similar in Elise's eyes when she was little, whenever she'd come to him with a big frown and complaints of "these words are too big!"          He weighs his options, glancing between the professor — still writing — and his classmate.

        "...Very well. I'll try to explain it quickly here... If you need more help, feel free to approach me after class." He can't help himself. If someone asks him a question, there's an inevitable itch to answer.         "In Fódlan, Reason is divided into several schools of thought. Naturally, there are the dark arts, which consume life to bring forth shadow, and the black arts, which call forth power from the natural world to conjure spells, but even these may be subdivided. The body being the catalyst for it all, it may seem like mastery is merely a matter of rote memorization, but just as a knight must train on horseback or a monk in solitude, it is just as crucial to tune one's body to smoothly channel the magics you pursue. Oftentimes, the limits of one's magical prowess are merely the limits of their own body. Each school teaches a different method of honing to increase your capacity."         Leo glances at the board. The professor is nearly done writing. A certain urgent undercurrent enters his voice: Hurry! Don't interrupt the lecture. "That's merely skimming the surface, of course... but does that make decent sense?"

[renaisguy]

Mhm, mhm… aha! He’d been going wrong from the start. Whenever the professor spoke of dark or black arts, he’d taken them to be the same thing - what he knew as dark magic back in Magvel. Which meant that every time the conversation jumped to fire or wind magic, he hadn’t been able to connect the points. 

At the top of his page, he writes a clear ‘black magic = anima’, before scribbling ‘anima’ over a few notes that make a bit more sense now. 

“That makes a lot of sense, thank you.” He whispers. Then, more to himself than to the helpful man, he mumbles, “So just how light magic can be channeled through faith in a higher being,” (well yeah, that’s why it’s called faith magic, isn’t it?), “black magic is channeled through nature.” And this lecture was about different methods of opening up to those energies.

Not that Forde fully understood those methods, but it was a step in the right direction. As the lecturer begins to speak once more, Forde’s able to reword his notes in a way that makes slightly more sense, whereas before it’d been a desperate bid to copy everything down from the board.

He glances at his fellow student again with a beaming smile. It’s clear he doesn’t want to be distracted right now, Forde can wait to- oh! His vest is a slightly different colour than the uniforms he’s used to, that’s what was off about him. 

“Thanks again.” Forde says as the lecture draws to a close. “I’m Forde by the way, lovely to meet you.” He offers his hand. “Is that a new uniform, by the way? Can’t help but notice your-” 

Oh. Now he can see the vest properly, no buttons where buttons should be, faint seams showing, Forde actually knows what’s wrong. Well, best to point these things out quickly. He speaks quietly, not to draw attention from anyone else.

“Sorry, I think your vest’s inside out.”

[renaisguy]

Is it a bird? Yes

Bow +1

[hoopdaughter]

When Forde had accepted a bow from the quartermaster, Fee had had her doubts. Why bring something along if not to use it, espeically for its intended purpose? But the way he had accepted her idea, however brazen it seemed, had turned her around. What had possessed her to do something so unorthodox, she didn't really care to ponder; what did matter, is proving that a pegasus knight can get the same results as an archer, maybe even better!

She leans forward on the reigns, letting her pegasus gather height as swiftly as possible in pursuit. Forde's bigger hands grip her midsection tightly enough. He's pretty strong for someone who's never flown before, she thinks. Hopefully, he'll be able to avoid the gravity of the situation.

At his query, she shouts back, "That's it, yeah!"

It's not exactly like fighting a dracoknight; not even close, when that's the best comparison she can make. At once it's as eldritch and eery as dark magic, but still holds some sort of reptilian authority. Its beak-cover-thing glints with touches of sunlight, but instead of seeing any beauty, it only makes Fee want to remove it from the picturesque skies even more. "Swipe it from the off-side! Coming up on it now!"

Her companion's spear levels itself on the edge of her vision, apparently ready for their first strike. Most of her effort is concetrated in catching up to the hulking creature, but the predator in her can't wait to get some damage herself. A surge of power spikes up the flame lance at her side, white-hot, maybe, but comforting. Her jaw clenches, and they arrive just below the monster's left wing.

"Now!"

[renaisguy]

In the second they pass by, Forde thrusts his spear into the bird’s side, feels a satisfying thunk, and promptly loses his grip upon realising the pegasus isn’t going to wait for him to retrieve his weapon. 

Both hands cling to the mount now, as a piercing screech fills the air. He turns his head to report on the situation. “It’s chasing us!” To be expected, really. Forde’s not quite sure how fast a monster bird should be, but… “The left wing is uh, sagging a little? I must’ve got it good, it doesn’t seem to be gaining on us.” 

“Oh and uh, it’s still got my spear.” 

Forde pulls the bow off his back, hoping to develop a sudden talent for archery, but when he tries taking his hands away to draw the bow, a sudden wobble changes his mind, and in the scramble to regain his balance he accidentally elbows Fee. “Ah- sorry!” 

Almost out of options now, Forde grabs one of the arrows. It’s something. “Ok, next time we pass it I can stab it again.” He takes a deep breath, and the fresh sky air fills his lungs. “Whenever you’re ready.”

[renaisguy]

Casual Alphabetical Windowshopping

Heavy armour +1 Challenge (Forde): every word must contain ‘C’, ‘A’ or ‘W’, spoken words must start with ‘C’, ‘A’, ‘W’, in that order Challenge (L’Arachel): every word spoken must be in alphabetical order, speech must be casual

[far-from-common]

forde does a lot of actions to try and help with his limited words. larachel thinks she understands. cant be bothered to second guess anyways

“attack bad cur. detectivise escapes followup.” she gives a very small nod

“go hound information just kinda lot. maybe new optics.” she pauses, trying to think. how to easily communicate with others as to what happened

taking a leisurely look around, she spots someone doodling. points to it

“picture? quickly rushed, telling upfront victimization. writing?” she pauses, looking annoyed

“xylophone.” maybe she could throw out junk words until she could speak her mind. nah. not unless its very important. too much effort

“you zesty?” he seemed to understand last time so why bother thinking something new

[renaisguy]

L’Arachel fails with comprehending, however L’Arachel has a valuable idea. Drawing - why wasn’t that an initial strategy? We have paper and charcoal within bag, we can draw merchant, paint merchant, make a watercolour, acrylic, gouache, encaustic, fresco, tempera merchant! Wonderful words whirl around, inspiration appears. 

About a page, a man appears. A dark alley, masks atop a carpet, a crimson cloak, creepy laugh… we can’t draw face well. Wider jaw than man had, weird eyeballs. Strange charm lacking. Was merchant’s face a mask? We have drawn a man that can’t convey merchant… we crumble paper. Copy alley, masks, cloak. 

“Caw caw… can appearance work? Can’t… appearance work.” Can’t words work apparently. 

However, drawing can’t appeal worse than absence drawing. We approach a stranger.

“Caw caw! Can assist. Whereabouts could agent wander, calamity about- what?” Woman scared, walks away with haste. Another perhaps? 

“Caw caw! Compare art with crowd, aware where cloaked artist would carry away with?” Man also escapes. 

“Caw caw… catastrophic attempts, wow.” We hand painting away, L’Arachel can attempt communication. “Crowned ally, with creative abundant words, convey a-” throat inflames when speaking halts, complete incantation, “whatever comes about within crowned ally’s whims.”